


scattered her ashes, buried her heart

by savi0urdr3amer



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Chronic Pain, Coming of Age, Dark Magic, Developing Relationship, Doomed Timelines, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Mental Health Issues, Minor Chrom/My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Minor Henry/Tiamo | Cordelia, Minor Liz | Lissa/Maribelle, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Racism, Racist Language, Relationship Study, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Ideation, along with "how much can i hurt severa?" the answer is a lot!, bildungsroman, i call this fic "severa is basically the jean gray of awakening", like i said the plegians also arent whitewashed in this so thats something to note, we all pretty much know the plegians aren't white
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-04-23 21:20:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19159201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savi0urdr3amer/pseuds/savi0urdr3amer
Summary: Severa isn't normal.She's always known that she's never fit in, and maybe she's not meant to; she grew up as a black sheep, the daughter of a prodigy and a sadistic dark mage, and she was born with a history of war in her blood. She knew how to succeed at the things she tried, but unlike her mother she failed to constantly excel, be blessed with the same grace, and now she stands amidst a falling kingdom with neither a family nor a purpose.And of all people, Lucina somehow isn't normal either. A princess of half-Plegian blood, the daughter of a stoic prince and genius tactician, Lucina is magnificent and everything a ruler should be, but something ominous lurks beneath the surface of her poised demeanor, and few people are perceptive enough to see through the mask she wears so well.But Severa is, and she finds herself drawn to Lucina, gravitating towards her like a moth to a flame, and Lucina is equally as attracted to her. Whether it's their mutual Plegian blood binding them together or even something as uncontrollable as fate, Severa has found that no one else has stood by her the way Lucina has, whether it's as a friend or a lover.





	1. i was born of the womb of a poisonous spell

**Author's Note:**

> i've been working on this monstrosity of a longfic for about a year off and on now and i'm finally working up to getting it posted. it was originally going to be all in one chapter, but now it's surpassed 33k words and i had to start splitting it into chapters for the sake of my own sanity. the first two parts were definitely the toughest to write, so it's my hope that they're still at least somewhat decent and can pave a decent enough way for the rest of the story, which will take a steep downward spiral into hell. 
> 
> with all that being said, this is an extremely dark take on severa's formative years, so proceed with caution. i'll give specific content/trigger warnings in later chapters as well. as always, big thanks to everyone for supporting me this rough year as i've slowly been cranking this story out. i hope all the waiting made it worthwhile. this was meant to be my lucisev magnum opus :')

**-**

Severa is six years old when she meets Lucina for the first time. Her mother is a high-ranking Pegasus Knight in Ylisse’s forces, and she visits the capital at least once a month to oversee progress of the new trainees, so she often takes Severa with her and walks hand-in-hand with her in the castle that Severa all too frequently finds herself lost in. Severa is young and tiny and slim, and her mother puts up her carmine-red hair in a loose bun that bounces on her head like a bow on top of a present, and she blows away the strands that fall to her face as she races through the hallways, playing hide-and-seek with her father whenever he tags along with them.

One day she’s far too immersed in finding a particularly clever hiding place while her mother chats with some Pegasus girls from the stable, and she doesn’t look as she turns a corner, which leads her face-first into what she realizes all too late is the shin of a man’s boot. The momentum knocks her ungracefully onto her butt and kicks the breath out of her chest, and Severa rubs her forehead as her skin turns red with the imprint of his armor. She squints, her vision spinning, and she grumbles in discomfort.

“Ow, that really _hurt-_ ” Before Severa can finish speaking her mother is tugging at her wrist and pulling her up, her cheeks red with embarrassment, scarlet hair splaying down to her waist, the white pins in her hair gleaming in the light.

“Forgive me, milord. She knows not who she’s speaking to,” Cordelia apologizes, moving stray strands of hair from Severa’s face so she can see better. “Severa, this is Lord Chrom and his daughter, Lucina.”

Chrom appears collected and lissome, dressed head-to-toe in attire more expensive than anything Severa’s ever seen, and the brand of the Exalt is visible on his right bicep, marked gray-blue on his skin and just a bit paler than his eyes. At first glance he appears regal, calm, and kindhearted, and Severa realizes quickly why Cordelia’s voice sounded so urgent and pleading. Oh.

He’s royalty. Severa has never met royalty before and doesn’t quite know what to do with herself. She’s heard of the Ylissean royal family, yes, but the stories and faded drawings in old history books admittedly left little of an impression on her. So Severa stares at him, follows the path of his cobalt hair with just her eyes, and then her attention shifts to his daughter, a smaller carbon copy of him, all bright sea-blue eyes and dark hair, her lips curled upwards into a smile that’s so heartfelt it bleeds into her.

“Are you playing hide and seek?” She asks as her eyes light up, her grin playful and perhaps even slightly devious. “Father, can I play with her?”

“Kids these days,” Chrom rubs the back of his neck with one hand and flashes a bashful grin. Cordelia laughs softly. “All right. Lucina, we’ll continue your sword lessons another day. Just don’t get into too much trouble, okay? And be back in time for dinner. Otherwise you’ll earn another scolding from Frederick.”

Lucina hugs him tightly, her face squishing comically against his clothes, and after she bids her father farewell she grabs Severa’s hand excitedly, practically jittering.

“My name’s Lucina,” She says, still beaming. “Have you seen the cubby on the fourth floor? I hid there for _hours_ a few weeks ago and even Frederick couldn’t find me. He didn’t find it as funny as I did, but it was _amazing_. No one’s ever gonna find us!”

“Severa, once you two are done playing, make your way to the stables,” Cordelia reminds her. “If you get lost I’m sure one of the servants will show you where to go. And remember your manners.”

Severa sighs, exasperated.

“Yes, mother,” She says with the slightest touch of sarcasm. “Can I go play now?”

“You may. Just be back around sundown,” Cordelia kneels, fixing Severa’s hair again, tightening the band holding it in place. She kisses her forehead and Severa rolls her eyes. “And have fun, sweetheart. I love you.”

Ugh. Parents are so embarrassing.

As Severa and Lucina skip through the lavish hallway hand-in-hand Cordelia can’t help but giggle.

“Hm? What is it?” Chrom looks over at her inquisitively.

“She’s exactly like you, Milord,” She answers softly. “She’ll be an incredible Exalt one day.”  

-

Severa meets Robin for the first time a few months later outside the library. She’s an analytical, slightly scattered woman with a nervous but strangely snarky aura and messy silver hair that looks like moonlight, and Lucina is elated when she sees her.

“Mother,” She chirps. “This is my friend, Severa. I’ve told her all about you!”

“Oh, have you now? What have you told her?” Robin says as she shifts, getting a better grip on the mass of books she has in her hands. Severa doesn’t recognize any of the words on the covers, but what she _does_ notice is that Robin is very, very pregnant.

“Just how _smart_ you are!” Lucina answers, enamored. “What are you reading today? Can you read your new books to me tonight?”

Robin laughs softly.

“I think these books are a bit too complicated for you, dear. I doubt you’d be remotely interested in metaphysics and the tactics of guerilla warfare. Unless you really want to fall asleep.”

Lucina sighs in disappointment.

“But you always tell me that I’m smart, too!” She exclaims in frustration. “So why can’t I read the same books that you do?”

Robin pats her head lovingly in response, her deep brown eyes tender and warm.

“When you’re older, maybe,” She answers. “Trust me when I say these books give even me a run for my money when it comes to strategy. Besides, right now a girl your age should be doing exactly what you are: enjoying her childhood,” She glances at Severa and tilts her head. “And who would your friend here be?”

Lucina latches onto Severa’s arm, pulling her close. She smiles wide, revealing gaps where she’s lost some of her baby teeth.

“This is Severa! Her mom helps tend to the Pegasi,” She answers happily, giving Severa a little nudge.

“Oh, so you’re Cordelia’s daughter?” Robin leans down to get a better look at her. “I’d recognize that hair anywhere.”

Severa doesn’t entirely like being compared to her mother. That’s the first thing everyone says when they see her. At times she feels embarrassed of this red hair of hers, loathes how she’s easily spotted in a crowd. Why can’t people notice something else about her?

“You’re going to have a baby,” Severa notes stiffly, a tad bit annoyed. She chews on the inside of her cheek and Robin blinks a few times in response, surprised at her forwardness.

“Yes, I am. Lucina will be a big sister in a few months.”

Severa stares at her rounded belly and thinks of a child growing in Robin’s already petite body. She looks like a wobbly toy that’s about to roll over.

“I don’t want to have a brother or a sister,” Severa continues dryly. “I’m glad it’s just me.”

Robin giggles, bemused.

“I’m more than positive you’re quite a handful,” Severa initially interprets this as pejorative and scowls, but Robin quickly shakes her head and clarifies. “But I don’t mean that as an insult! It pays off to be as forward as you are. And with your potential and determination,” Robin pauses and pats Severa’s head, nestling her fingers in a forest of messy crimson hair. “I dare say you could surpass even your mother one day.”

Lucina nudges her again encouragingly, growing a bit impatient.

“Do you want to go play in the courtyard? The gardens there are like a _maze_ ,” She drawls, her aquamarine eyes growing wide and twinkling.

Severa nods and lets Lucina cling to her wrist and pull her through the corridor, but she turns back and still watches Robin, who becomes smaller and smaller as they head towards the doors leading to the courtyard, and her words echo in her head.

Perhaps she could surpass her mother one day. Severa doesn’t know if she should smile or frown at this; it feels like a double-edged sword to be better than someone she doesn’t want to be compared to. But it’d surely be something to write down in a history book.

One day, she thinks. If she’s lucky.

-

Morgan is born about two weeks after Lucina’s seventh birthday, and while Lucina is a spitting image of Chrom, Morgan is the very portrait of his mother, save for his full head of his father’s trademark blue-black hair. He has the same cocoa eyes, a long, narrow nose and rosy lips, his skin a warm shade of gold that mirrors Robin’s perfectly. He even has the same dimples on his cheeks. Severa meets him a few days after his birth, and Lucina is euphoric when she introduces him to everyone. Severa stares at him in his cradle, neatly wrapped up in a fluffy blanket as he sleeps, his dark hair poking out like a patch of grass. Lucina’s already gotten to change him, has learned how to swaddle him, and can even give him bottles with Robin’s supervision. To Severa this all seems like a minor annoyance she couldn’t possibly care less about, but to Lucina they’re beaming accomplishments she wears proudly like badges of honor. (Most seven year olds wouldn’t be able to change a diaper, after all. Or at least that’s what Lucina says when she boasts about it.)

“He’s cute,” She notes matter-of-factly, not bothering to hide her lack of enthusiasm as she inches closer to her mother and clings to her. This is a foreign and unwanted concept.

Lucina frowns. That clearly wasn’t the answer she wanted.

“Just you watch, Severa,” She says, fiercely driven and entirely unaware of how loud her voice grows. “I’m going to be the _best_ big sister there is.”

Morgan fusses at this and squirms, briefly opening his eyes before letting out a frustrated, drowsy cry. Lucina gasps with embarrassment as she realizes she’s woken him up and bashfully hides her face in her hands as Robin gently nudges her aside and cradles Morgan in her arms. There are dark circles under Robin’s eyes and she looks like she’s hardly slept at all the last few weeks, but the look on her face is so tender and loving it’s like she doesn’t care how exhausted she is. Beside her, Chrom lovingly wraps his arm around her shoulder as he admires his wife and son, and to Severa they look like the portrait of a perfect family. She’s almost jealous of them. She doesn’t know why.

Chrom motions Lucina towards him and scoops her up with a dramatic huff, nuzzling her face as she wraps her arms around him and squeezes him in a tight hug.

“Now, now, it’s all right,” He tells her softly, pointing to Morgan with his free hand. “See? He’s already fallen back asleep.”

Lucina nods and is clearly tired herself, letting out a deep yawn as the red fades from her cheeks.

“It looks like it’s getting close to bedtime for someone else, too,” He teases, ruffling Lucina’s hair. She giggles, shaking her head before yawning again, and Chrom snorts.

“Let’s leave your new baby brother to rest for the night. You’ll have plenty of time to play with him and bother him in the morning. Besides,” He makes eye contact with Robin for emphasis. From what Severa’s heard so far, it doesn’t sound like Morgan’s birth was a very smooth one. “I think we could all use some shut-eye right now.”

Robin nods slowly with a drained sigh, standing stiffly, awkwardly, as she tries to lean down and set Morgan back in his crib. She flinches as she bends down, her pale brows knitting in pain.

“Your stitches, dear.” Chrom reminds her gently, using his free hand to help her. Robin sighs again.

“I’m well aware,” She mumbles as she rubs her eyes. “But yes. Thank you.”

Severa studies Robin as she adjusts her posture and crosses her arms, and her gaze wanders to a series of bandages on her right hand, strewn over her palm and crossed between her fingers. She’s too young to understand fully what Chrom meant, so when she sees the wrappings she comes to a different conclusion.

“You hurt your hand?” She asks inquisitively, pointing to it. Cordelia pats her twice in response, a nagging habit of hers, and shushes her.

Robin’s gaze briefly flickers to the bandages and she presses her lips together. Severa senses something beneath them, old and otherworldly and sewn into her sinew, lurking in her blood and watching. Waiting. It feels… wrong.

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” She reassures tensely. The mental reminder to not pick at them shows itself in a flash of discomfort. “It’s just an old scar.”

Severa tilts her head towards her shoulder, her interest piqued. She may be a child with a limited vocabulary, but she knows what a scar is and possesses an uncanny instinct that’s rarely wrong…and it tells her Robin is lying.

Her mother guides her out of the room after she and Robin have a fleeting conversation about the new Pegasus recruits.

“Severa, it’s not polite to pry.” She chastises quietly.

Of course it isn’t. Severa doesn’t ask Robin about it again, but that doesn’t stop her from locking the memory tightly in her head and reminding herself to investigate it later. Whatever lies beneath those bandages isn’t a scar. She’s sure of it.

She’ll just have to pry more discreetly from now on. 

-

Severa learns a new word a few months after she begins visiting Ylisstol more regularly. She doesn’t know what it means or why it’s bad, but when Lucina asks Chrom about it his features become steely.

A servant had muttered it to her in passing earlier that day after she’d stumbled into him on accident. He called her a half-breed. Chrom fires him without warning and bears an uncharacteristically primal scowl, and he stands over the servant by at least a good six inches, glaring down at him with controlled but unrivaled disdain. Severa’s never seen him this angry before and she doesn’t know how to respond, so she stands beside one of the many displays in Ylisstol filled with medals and circlets and passed down gold, and she feels painfully out of place.

“Get out,” Chrom growls, his voice low and threatening. His words feel like cyanide and even Lucina winces beside her like she’s been hurt, shrinking into herself in what Severa assumes is embarrassment. There’s a roughness to Chrom’s voice she’s never heard before, sandpapery and gruff and from the back of his throat.

The servant stops cleaning a vase midway and shudders, his posture stiffening. Surely he didn’t think that Chrom would confront him, let alone in person. He probably didn’t even think Lucina had heard him. But she did.

“But milord,” He protests nervously, sitting the vase back on its stand with shaky hands. “I’ve been here since before Lady Emmeryn was crowned Exalt. I’ve never received so much as a warning in my time here-”

“I don’t care,” Chrom interrupts crossly, scowling. “Your time here means nothing to me. How dare you speak of my daughter in such a way?” He corners the servant, pinning him back-first against the castle wall and grabs him by his collar, the toned muscles in his arms flaring around his brand. He moves in close to his ear and his voice drops an octave. The vase beside them rattles, threatening to fall from the impact. “If I ever hear you speak of my family again you’ll be lucky if I let you live. I don’t ever want to see your face in my castle again. Do I make myself clear?”

Chrom’s nostrils flare as she speaks, his dark brows knitted tight. The absolution in his eyes is resolute, his features like stone.

The servant nods quickly and lets out a guttural plea, his breathing cut off by Chrom’s grip. With a disgusted scoff he releases the servant, and he struggles to regain his balance as Chrom turns away from him, his cape covering his shoulder.

“Come, Lucina,” he says, quieter now. “You need not concern yourself with such filth.”

Lucina approaches him cautiously like a dog with its tail between its legs, unsure as to whether or not it’s done wrong. Chrom wraps an arm around her, pulling her in for a lazy hug, and he pauses.

“You too, Severa,” he says. He looks back at her, his eyes softening. “Lucina has fencing practice soon. You’re welcome to attend, if you’d like,” He laughs. “And you didn’t hear it from me, but Frederick has some of the sandwiches you like. Why don’t you go steal a few from him?”

Severa glances at the servant only once as she passes him. He looks neither angry nor distraught… instead simply dumbfounded. 

She never sees him again after that.

Off to more important matters, then.

-

“Henry, she’s being bullied in school.”

Severa knew this conversation would happen sooner or later, but even the mental preparation doesn’t stop her from feeling nervous. Like she’s done something wrong.

She’s eight now and can’t bring herself to sleep. She stares out her bedroom window, connecting the stars with just her eyes, watching them glimmer in a sea of dark sapphire. Dust dances around her windowsill in the full moonlight like specks of diamonds and Severa watches them tiredly, unamused.  

Her parents probably think she’s asleep, but she hears every word. They’re quiet but Severa is alert and the walls in her room are thin, so sneakily listening to conversations she shouldn’t is an easy feat.

“I had a conference with one of her teachers earlier,” Cordelia says with a soft sigh. “It’s mainly a group of boys. She yelled at one of them during class after he joked about pulling her hair…”

His name is Josiah. His dad is a talented but brash weaponsmith with a reputation for running his mouth, and he supplies a large supply of Ylisstol’s forces, which means his family is rolling in coin. He stands close to the military and often finds out a variety of details most common townspeople wouldn’t, and as a result he’s as ignorant as he is pig-headed, and that’s spread to his son, too. He thinks he’s untouchable, and Josiah likes to pick fights with Severa because no one else will. They back down when he hones in on them and pulls out their insecurities for everyone to see. But she doesn’t. She isn’t scared of him.

“Did she teach them a lesson?” Her father asks, as cheerful as he always is, but Severa can tell he’s unhappy. She’s gotten good at reading him over the years, learning the subtle inflexions in his voice that show when he’s not as happy and carefree as he lets on. He’s good at wearing a mask, and one day she will be, too.

“I’d rather she _not_ ,” Cordelia says, austere. “I don’t want her getting in any more trouble… and you know Severa is rather…opinionated.”

Severa listens more closely now, pressing her ear against the wall. Their voices come from the living room; she can hear one of the chairs there groan as Cordelia shifts. She _is_ opinionated and while she might not be as patient as her mother or Lucina, she has a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue that makes most knives look blunt in comparison. She’s bright and hotheaded and cunning, a tiny phoenix sprouting fresh orange-red feathers that rises from the ashes of its predecessors and begins to learn its place in the world.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Henry responds gently. “It’s only natural for her to react when she’s provoked. Why don’t I talk to her? I can even see about teaching her a few spells!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Cordelia protests.

“Why not? It’d be easy for her, as smart as she is. I’m sure she’s a natural! She’d be running laps around those kids in no time and-”

“ _Henry_ ,” Cordelia interjects firmly. “We’ve talked about this. They don’t even teach magic in most schools, let alone the kind you’re apt in,” Her tone sinks. “And I… I can’t risk that for her. The attention, the assumptions… I can’t put her in that kind of position. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“It’s silly that it’s still so taboo here,” Henry murmurs, his voice sweet but hiding displeasure. “Growing up in Plegia we were taught magic daily, even in the orphanage! All kinds of it!”

“That’s what I mean,” Cordelia counters. “Ylisse’s history is intrinsically tied with healers; Lady Emmeryn was one herself, but what you do is different. The people here have little knowledge outside of white magic. They’d run wild thinking you’d be teaching her curses.”

“I mean, I could do that, too,” Henry notes casually. “They’re really not that hard!”

Cordelia snickers.

“Maybe when she’s older, if it comes to that, all right? But for now… I think we just need to focus on keeping her out of any more predicaments. Does that sound agreeable?”

“I guess so. But if those kids keep picking on her, I’ll deal with them myself. I’ll scare them off with a mass of crows and maybe-”

Cordelia breaks into a fit of giggles.

“I can see where Severa gets her wild imagination from,” She says. “But let’s try to stay away from crows. I think they might be a bit impractical.”

“Fine, fine. Another day, then.”

“Another day,” Cordelia confirms. She pauses. “We have a lot on our plates, don’t we?”

“Sure do. But life’s more fun that way. It’d be boring without a little surprise or two!”

“Well, I think I’ve had my fill of surprises for a while,” Cordelia responds.

“And that’s where you’re wrong!” Henry snickers, his voice rising with elation. “Surprises always happen when you least expect them to. And Severa is full of surprises.”

Severa isn’t sure if that means she’s liked for her spontaneity or viewed as a ticking time bomb. But her father sure was right; she is full of surprises, and she doesn’t know what kind yet. But she will.

And when that day comes she’ll decide she doesn’t like surprises anymore.

-

Around the same time Severa begins occasionally staying the night at Ylisstol, having sleepovers with Lucina on the weekends and when she’s off of school. After a day of lengthy adventuring they spend their nights building forts made of large, fluffy pillows and dense, opulent blankets that are softer and silkier than anything Severa’s ever felt. They morph the shapes of shadows with their hands in the candlelight, pretending they’re fighting monsters and thieves, gracefully striking them down with long swords and enthusiastic monologues.

When they play together Severa pretends she’s a princess, too, and she and Lucina are a tag team extraordinaire known for being some of Ylisse’s most notorious and esteemed heroes. Together they vanquish evil, rescuing villagers and royalty alike, always rushing in to save the day when peril strikes and someone needs saving. Being a hero is a fun but tedious job, Severa determines, and by moonrise they’re both exhausted.

“Do you wanna have a ton of bodyguards when you’re Exalt one day?” Severa asks one night, staring at the high ceilings in Lucina’s room.

Lucina doesn’t answer at first. It’s late now, well past their usual bedtime, and she’s struggling to stay awake.

“I don’t think so,” She says finally, sleepily. “Maybe just a few?” She pauses again. “A few that I can really trust. Good ones,” She decides finally.

Severa nods. That makes sense.

“It seems like a lot of stress being a princess,” Severa notes. It’s not strictly about fancy dresses and table etiquette like in the books her mom reads to her. She rolls over in the bed and faces Lucina. “How do you do it all?”

“My dad does most of it for me,” Lucina giggles. “And Frederick, too. I don’t understand what a lot of the meetings with the court are about, but my dad says it’s important that I go anyways. It makes me more prepared or something.”

Severa is intrigued. This is the first she’s heard anything about meetings.

“What do they talk about?”

“Politics and stuff. A lot of it is about Plegia. They _really_ don’t like us,” Lucina says, and with extra emphasis. “And we don’t like them, either. They’re why Aunt Emmeryn isn’t here anymore.”

Oh. Right. Severa remembers hearing about that.

“Yeah. Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked,” Severa murmurs abashedly.

Lucina smiles gently, her eyelids heavy.

“It’s all right. Hey, Severa, I think I’m going to go to sleep now. We can play more in the morning?”

“Yeah, but can I ask you a question really quick?”

Lucina nods.

“If you ever decide to have your own guards… can I be one of them?” Severa isn’t sure why she felt a need to ask such a silly question, but she felt it necessary nonetheless.

“Of course. You’ll be the first person I ask,” Lucina says, resolute. “Good night, Severa.”

Lucina rolls over and falls asleep quickly, sleeping soundly beside her in just a few minutes, her breathing steady and soft, but Severa isn’t as fortunate. She tosses and turns, sleep evading her no matter her exhaustion, and only when she comes close to dozing off does she hear something that makes her eyes open.

Footsteps. A few sets of them, accompanied by hushed voices. She listens closely and quickly discerns one of them is Chrom. The other is a woman. It’s… hm. Robin? Yes, definitely Robin. It sounds like they’re going into Morgan’s room just across from them. They’re checking on him at this hour?

Curious, Severa rolls out of bed and peeks through the slim opening in the cracked door in hopes that she’ll see them, but it doesn’t give enough of a view. So she sneaks into the hallway, walking on the tips of her toes, and she peers into Morgan’s room as discreetly as she can, scarlet hair pouring down her back. 

Ah, that’s better.

She can see both of them clearly now. Chrom embraces Robin firmly as she inches closer to him, resting her head against his arm as the two of them watch Morgan sleeping soundly in his new bed, his tiny chest moving rhythmically up and down.

“I’m scared,” She confesses, her voice quiet and low. “What… what if he turns out like me?”

“He won’t be. He doesn’t have the brand of the Exalt, either,” Chrom takes in a long, contemplative breath. “You overthink sometimes, Robin.”

“Of course I do. I’m a tactician!” Robin shoots back. “And a mother, to boot. Can you blame me?”

Chrom smooths her hair reassuringly and kisses the top her of head.

“Not at all. If something happens in the future, we can deal with that threat together… but right now we can only focus on what’s in front of us.”

“I know. But _gods_ , it’s just so hard sometimes.” Robin is stubborn when it comes to her own emotions, but he’s right. She can’t exactly look at her life like a strategist in battle, and this frustrates her.

“It is,” Chrom holds her tighter. “But that’s why you can’t deal with it by yourself. Even the greatest of tacticians didn’t win battles on their own, you know.” He teases.

Robin laughs and gives him a playful shove with her elbow.

“Are you really trying to educate me on my own profession?” Her timbre drips with sarcasm.

Chrom struggles to keep himself from laughing.

“I don’t know. When was the last time you saw me pick up a book on strategy?”

“Clearly I need to change that if you think you can school me at my own game,” She jests.

“I’d like to see you try,” Chrom teases. Morgan shifts in his sleep, making him lower his voice as he hugs her tenderly. “Listen. I love you. Everything’s going to be okay, and I don’t want you to worry. All right?” He places his hands on Robin’s shoulders and locks eyes intently with her.

Robin breathes out again, releasing the tension from her body.

“Yeah. I love you, too,” She places a quick peck on his lips. “We should probably be heading to bed soon. It’s getting late and I know you have some meetings in the morning. And if we have time I’ll squeeze in a tactics lesson or two, since you’re so interested.”

Severa watches Chrom blow out the candle in Morgan’s room and scurries around the corner before they turn around, sneaking back into Lucina’s room as quietly as she can with a partially guilty but keen conscience.

Robin’s worried that Morgan could turn out like her? Interesting.

Now Severa has to figure out what that means. Maybe prying more discreetly will pay off after all.

-

Severa is eleven when the feeling starts. It’s a burning, prickling sensation that makes her feel like her hands are hovering over an invisible fire. At times it’s hardly noticeable, akin to the feeling she would get if she propped her arms up and fell asleep on them during school, but other times it’s excruciating. Some nights she wakes up from nightmares and comes to her mother in tears, breathing heavy, stuttering _mom, mom it hurts, it hurts so bad_ , _make it stop, please,_ and Cordelia cradles her as she sobs into her pajamas, her gentle hands sifting through Severa’s long, ruffled hair.

There are multiple trips to the cleric. The first one they see dismisses Severa’s symptoms entirely and assures her mother that there’s simply nothing wrong with her. The second believes it could be some type of neurological disorder, or perhaps an autoimmune issue. Her symptoms aren’t something he’s seen before, he says, but he’s determined to do get to the bottom of it. At times Severa can hear them talking outside the examination room, arguing with each other. Some say it’s a ploy for attention. Others say it could be an undiscovered disease.

A lot of testing is done, all of which eventually comes back inconclusive. Severa spends weeks being pricked and prodded until her skin is bruised and she feels like a pincushion, and she goes to school feeling like a test subject in a twisted science experiment, wearing long shirts to cover her arms even when it’s hot so no one sees them and asks any questions.

“Maybe I’m not normal,” Severa tells her mother blankly, staring at the lines in her palms. They curve and swirl like paths, connecting in some areas and drifting apart in others, and when she doesn’t feel well, ill or scared or livid, she feels pain in each of those tiny strokes pressed uniquely into her skin, sometimes all at once. She never has been normal and never will be. This is something she simply inherently knows.

“Oh honey, you’re brilliant,” Cordelia says, cradling her. “You’re incredible and brave and so, so strong. We’ll figure out what’s going on.” Their eyes meet. “I promise.”

That’s the first promise she breaks. Severa doesn’t feel brilliant and the pain never stops. It continues, perpetual, reminding her in moments of silence that it still watches like a beast hiding under her bed, and for a long time Severa contemplates chopping her hands off with a butcher’s knife. It’d be like cutting a slab of pig meat.

She only narrowly decides against it.

-

“Hey, Sev. You going to Ylisstol this weekend?” Josiah crumples up a piece of paper and tosses it at Severa. She’s flicking a pencil between her fingers as it taps against her back, and she glances at him with mounting irritation.

Severa is thirteen, impetuous as ever, and remains her bully’s favorite target. There have been a myriad of meetings, conferences, and interventions, but nothing seems to shake him off for more than a few weeks. Severa’s temper draws him in like a moth to a flame, and he enjoys poking at her more than anything.

“That’s none of your business,” Severa snaps, frowning. Ugh. For once she actually _tries_ to pay attention and study during their lunch break, and this is how the universe thanks her? Stupid.

“You usually do what… every few weeks? Because of your mom?”

Severa rolls her eyes so hard she swears she sees the inside of her head.

“Why’s it matter to you?” She questions with an exhale, her already miniscule patience growing even thinner. So much for cramming some studying in before her next history test...

“I’m just wondering how they’re dealing with everything. You know, now that tensions with Plegia are rising. Or at least that’s what my dad says.” Josiah answers with a shrug.

“Beats me. Why don’t you try asking them yourself? I’m not an owl.”

Josiah snorts and looks at one his friends sitting at the desk beside him.

“I can’t believe there’ll be a half-breed on the throne soon. We’ll all probably be dead in a few years.” He snorts, scoffing with disgust.

There’s that word again. Anger builds in Severa and she catches herself holding her breath, now entirely unable to concentrate on her studying. She remembers the servant back in Ylisstol, his face flushed and pale eyes wide as Chrom banished him from the castle. She feels just as angry as he did now.

“What did you just say?” She growls, sharpening her words until they’re like knives she could throw. Who does he think he is, talking about Lucina like that?

Josiah raises one dark eyebrow at her cynically, his brown eyes sly and provoking.  

“She’s a half-breed. Her mom is Plegian. Dirty-blooded,” He chortles bitterly. “It’s a shame, really.”

Severa slams her hands onto her desk, startling the rest of her classmates. The lingering conversations dissipate and Severa suddenly feels like a circus animal being stared at by countless pairs of eyes.

“Don’t talk about Lucina like that,” She snaps. “She’s better than you’ll ever be.”

“You think I give a shit about whether she’s royalty or not? I’ll say whatever I want. What are you gonna do about it?” Josiah looks at Severa from head to toe, as if gauging her potential. “Once a half-breed, always a half-breed. Takes one to know one, doesn’t it, Sev?”

Severa’s embarrassment quickly shifts back to wrath. She pushes her chair back and kicks it beside her desk, vaguely registering the sound of it tipping over, the metal legs rattling against the floor, and the first the she sees when she looks at Josiah is red. Scarlet. Thick and overpowering, glowering, vehement rage like a toxin in her veins, and Severa caves into her temptations and does the first and only thing that comes to her mind. She raises her palm into the air, makes sure her thumb isn’t trapped inside her fist, and she drives her angled knuckles into the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes.

It must’ve happened quickly because Josiah doesn’t have time to flinch before the blow knocks him out of his chair and onto the dirty floor, and with a startled yelp he scrambles awkwardly like a fish flopping out of water, thick rivulets of blood pouring from his nose like water in a stream. For a few seconds Severa thinks she’s daydreaming, distracted from studying and wandering in a delusion conjured up by her own impulsive desires, but when she sees the blood on her hand she realizes what she’s done and takes a step back, shocked by her own actions. Oh, _shit_.

For a few meager seconds everything is silent and the rest of the class stares at them, their eyes intent like spotlights, and Severa can feel their glances from every angle in the room. Josiah wipes his face on his sleeve, smears it with blood thick like wine-red paint, and the look in his slim eyes is malice and flames and loathing, his dark hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead. Then he lunges at her.

It’s a predictable move, really; Severa could see the intent in his eyes, but that doesn’t stop it from being sudden enough to make her heart race, the adrenaline a spark in her blood. She kicks her chair further back and ducks, watching his posture and chubby fists clench as he goes to swing. She’s lucky enough that it gives her a perfect opening to kick him square in the shin and knock him off his feet, and like a thrown doll he flails awkwardly, arms and legs hitting desks and chairs as he hits the ground. The sound of him falling is enough to echo in the room, and now a large portion of the class has scurried to avoid getting hit in the crossfire. Severa breathes heavily as she looks down at him, blood spattered on the floor and leaking on his shirt, and the familiar pain in her hands begins to radiate, pulsing with the beat of her heart. She has the urge to scratch her palms until they’re raw.

The feeling intensifies when one of her teachers comes rushing into the room. Severa bites her lip. Of course she heard what was going on; it wasn’t exactly quiet. Dammit.

As they make eye contact Severa imagines how bad this must look. Blood on her arms, her shirt, _everywhere_ , Josiah buckled and curled in on himself on the floor amidst knocked-over desks and chairs, half the classroom cowering in a corner. It couldn’t look much worse for her, could it?

The teacher’s face goes white like a ghost’s. Paler than a piece of paper.

“Severa!” She gasps, horrified. “Out. Now!”

Severa bites her lip harder and swears she tastes blood (hopefully her own). She knows exactly where she’s going.

-

The discipliner’s office is a familiar and loathsome place. Severa doesn’t know her name and has never bothered to learn it despite the amount of times she’s been sent here, and she thinks of it as a sort of defiance. She’s not afraid of her, no matter how stern she looks or how much she threatens her.

It’s not like half the shit she gets sent here for is her fault, anyways. Severa crosses her legs as she slumps in the chair, all too used to how it squeaks as she shifts her weight. She lets out an irked huff as the head discipliner sits across from her, the two them separated by a desk full of stacks of papers. Her name is on top of one of them, written in red ink the color of Josiah’s bloody nose, and Severa almost snorts at the thought.

“Severa,” She says sternly. Her face contorts as she says her name, like it hurts her to say it.

“Let me guess,” Severa mumbles, crossing her arms, pulling tensely at her sleeves with her fingers. “I’m gonna be the only one getting in trouble for this, aren’t I?”

“You know what we talked about last time. No violence. And you _completely_ disregarded that,” She says, displeased.

“Did you hear what he said? What he called her?!” Severa snaps, the anger in her voice rising. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Severa, listen-”

“No, _you_ listen,” Severa interrupts fiercely. “You expect me to sit there and do nothing while he sits with his little shit-eating grin and calls our future Exalt a half-breed? He deserved every damn bit of what he got,” She says bitterly. “If you want to expel me for that, be my guest.”

The discipliner’s expression softens a bit, but to Severa it only looks like a feigned kind of pity, a false sympathy that coddles her anger instead of soothing it. She doesn’t understand. No one does.

“And no violence? Horseshit,” She adds with a bitter spat. The words come pouring out of her mouth too quickly for her to stop, like a dam that’s broken. “Do you know how many times he’s put his hands on me and gotten away with it? You knew _damn_ well what he was doing and he got away with it every time!” She blinks and realizes she’s fighting back tears. “But I stand up for myself once and I’m the problem? Gods, what’s _wrong_ with you people?”

The silence in the air is deafening.

“I’ll give you three days suspension,” She says finally, scribbling down the details on a slip of paper. Her voice sounds strangled. “Josiah will get the same. Go ahead and clean yourself off and head home for the day.”

Severa bites the inside of her cheek and grabs the slip of paper off the desk, making a sure point to wrinkle it up before sticking it in her bag. That’s less of a punishment than she was expecting, but it’s still fucking _stupid_. With a grumble she stands up, swings her bag over her shoulder, and heads for the door.

“Severa, I really hope I don’t see you in here anymore after this.” She murmurs quietly. Guiltily.

Severa rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, me too.” She says. She shuts the door. “Me fucking too.”

-

Cordelia will be angry. She’ll be disappointed. At the very least, she’ll be upset. At the worst, she’ll be fuming.

Severa goes through hundreds of possibilities in her head as she walks home. Her classmates still have over an hour left of school, which leaves the usual path back to the village empty; only spears of sunlight break through the spaces between the trees in place of footsteps, and for once Severa realizes she hears birds chirping. It’s pleasant now that spring has come around and the leaves and flowers have begun to bloom, and the breeze is just soft enough to caress her skin without blowing dirt in her face.

It’s nice enough that she could almost enjoy it. If she wanted to, at least.

This is all so stupid, she thinks. And now she has to break the news to her mother. She always gets the short end of the stick, and today is no different.

Stupid. Absolutely fucking stupid.

Cordelia is reading something when Severa opens the front door. Her glasses, seldom worn, catch the sunlight, and her eyes beam with confusion.

“You’re home early. Is something wrong?”

“I got in trouble at school again,” Severa mumbles. She reaches into her bag and searches for the note the discipliner gave her.

“What did you do?” Cordelia’s already worried, her thin red brows knitting. Her lips form a tight line as she frowns and sighs.

Severa hands it to her reluctantly. She wishes she’d torn it up on the way home, but it’s much too late now.

“It’s a load of bullshit,” She remarks brusquely, though internally she’s far more anxious than she lets on. Her mother is prim and proper and _perfect_ , and Severa knows that the same is expected of her, too. And this… this isn’t exactly perfect.

“Severa. Watch your language,” She says sternly.

“I’m just saying,” Severa says with a sigh. “It’s true. He deserved it!”

Cordelia’s brows climb to her hairline.

“By the gods, you broke his _nose_?” Her free hand moves to her face. Shit. Not good.

“Yeah. There was a lot of blood,” Severa recounts nonchalantly, unintentionally. “But like I said, he deserved it!” She stammers. “Every last bit of it. I don’t even care that I got in trouble.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t get expelled,” Cordelia says, less than sympathetic.

“It wasn’t my fault! He started it! He always does.” Severa protests meekly.

“I… I need to talk to your father about this,” Cordelia decides, rubbing her temple with one hand. “We’ll decide what to do about this later tonight when he gets back.” She decides.

Severa crinkles her brows. That’s a phrase she doesn’t hear often. Usually her mother is the one gone and her father tends to the garden or stays inside. He’s social but at times painfully awkward, which often causes the neighbors to avoid talking to him unless absolutely necessary, so the thought of him being somewhere on his own is strange. He always does better with company.

“Where is dad, anyway?” Severa inquires. “I didn’t see him outside.”

“He’s gone to Ylisstol for the day. He left this morning.”

That gives Severa more questions than it does answers.

“What’s he doing there?”

“It’s… complicated,” Cordelia sets down her papers in her lap. “To put it simply, the situation with Plegia is worsening and they needed your father for insight.”

That makes sense now, given her father’s background. It seems that defecting from Plegia has its tactical benefits, but that’s not what Severa finds herself focusing on. This is worrisome.

“What do you think is gonna happen?”

Cordelia fidgets nervously with her fingers.

“I don’t know yet. But it doesn’t look good.”

Severa wants to dig deeper and ask her more, but Cordelia is quick to continue.

“If you have any homework, I’d prefer it if you looked it over,” She says, her voice strained. She pushes her glasses up to try and obscure the glassiness in her eyes. “Please, Severa. I need some time to think about this.”

Things really must be taking a turn for the worse if this is how her mother is taking it. Severa suddenly doesn’t want to pry anymore.

“I, uh. All right,” Severa scratches her head. There’s not much else for her to do. “I’ll just be in my room if you need me?”

“That’s fine,” Cordelia answers gently. “Oh, and please wash your shirt, too. There’s blood on the back of it.”

Severa cringes and a hint of an ache spirals down her fingertips. Oops.

Only as Severa enters her bedroom does she realize she hears mother crying, and for once she doesn’t think it’s because of her. She’s right.


	2. i was hung from the tree made of tongues of the weak

-

Henry doesn’t come back that night, instead returning midafternoon on the last day of Severa’s suspension. In a way she considers herself lucky because there’s not much to explain and there’s even less he can do about it now, though overall he seems to take the news better than Cordelia did. He’s more impressed with the fact that she broke his nose, if anything, and when Cordelia isn’t looking he pulls her aside and grins, his bony hands ruffling through her hair.

“I’m proud of you,” His voice is hardly more than a whisper. “You didn’t let him step on you and showed him what you were made of. He’d be an idiot to mess with you again!”

 _Damn right he would be_ , Severa thinks. And that’s exactly what Josiah and his ragtag band of bullies are: absolute fucking idiots. She has a feeling in the pit of her stomach that this isn’t the last she’s seen of him, dark crescents under his eyes or not, but she doesn’t say anything about that. She hopes she’s wrong.

Unfortunately for her that uncanny intuition of hers never is.

-

It’s early June when Robin is kidnapped by Plegia. She’s taken from a field on a hot, humid evening following weeks of smaller ambushes, and within hours the Ylissean army is scrambling without their best tactician.

It deals an unexpected blow that resonates even to the far reaches of Ylisse where Severa lives, and it’s so sudden that both of her parents leave for Ylisstol without even packing their bags. Severa insists on going, _pleads_ with them, but Cordelia is quick to contest.

“This isn’t like the trips we take on the weekends,” She says somberly. “This could very well be Ylisse’s breaking point. I’m not putting you in danger.”

“But Lucina-”

“Lucina has enough to deal with right now. Her mother is missing.” Severa clings to Cordelia’s sleeve as she heads out the door. Cordelia looks down at her, her face stern.

“Mom, _please_ -”

“This is for your own safety, Severa,” She swallows and her timbre softens, becoming raw and blanched. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. Stay here until we get back.”

Cordelia pulls Severa in by her arm and hugs her tightly. She smells like hay and sawdust and the slightest tinge of citrus, and Severa doesn’t remember the last time her mother hugged her like this. Being as reserved and disciplined as she is means she’s hardly ever this outwardly emotional.

Cordelia looks at her, her dark eyes mirroring Severa’s like an exact copy.

“I’ve already talked to the neighbors in case something happens and you need to leave the village. Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.”

Severa nods as Cordelia’s ramblings shift to more mundane reminders. She cut the fruit she picked from the garden and stocked up on food, wrung out everyone’s clothes, and left spare morsels in the kitchen pantry for the stray cat Severa’s become attached to. At least that’s interesting.

“There should be more security around the village and some of the guards may come to check on you over the next few days, so don’t be alarmed. I instructed them to,” Cordelia frowns and pauses when Severa doesn’t respond. She taps her shoulder lightly. “Severa, are you listening to me?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” She apologizes with a bashful laugh. Cordelia rubs her eyes.

“I’ve also been meaning to tell you where I hid the sword Chrom gave you last weekend.”

Severa’s attention perks back up. She’d almost forgotten about that. She’s recently taken an interest in fencing after watching some of Lucina’s lessons and was stunned when Chrom offered her the real thing, and when she tried to protest he merely laughed and shrugged it off. _Consider it a gift_ , he said, like he was giving her something meager and disposable and certainly not an actual weapon. Cordelia’s objections went down just as swiftly; it’s a smaller, lighter model made by some of the newer blacksmiths as practice and won’t deal much damage, Chrom told her. Which was mostly true. He chuckled as he directed her attention to Lucina struggling to wield Falchion, holding it clumsily. _It’s not like I’m giving her that,_ he added. Severa howled with laughter and though Cordelia was far less amused, she reluctantly agreed to let her keep it. On a few conditions, of course. The main one was that it stayed hidden and Severa wasn’t allowed to know its location. What a stupid rule for something that was supposed to be hers!

“I certainly have your attention now, don’t I?” Cordelia continues. “It’s under the bed in the master bedroom. Use it if you need to. No taking it to school.”

Severa rolls her eyes. Dammit.  

“I’ll be back in a few days,” She takes in a deep breath and stiffens with worry. “Please promise me you’ll be safe.”

“I’ll try.” Severa shrugs.

Cordelia hugs her again, this time so tightly it almost hurts. Severa feels like she’s being constricted by a snake.

“I love you.” Cordelia murmurs gently. She stains Severa’s hair with tears and turns quickly after she pulls away, not wanting Severa to see that she’s been crying. All that comes out of Severa’s mouth is a strangled mumble as she departs, and the house becomes eerily silent.

She tucks the sword in bed beside her for good measure that night, keeps it as her silver-tongued companion to cut through the silence in the air and the restlessness bouncing in her chest.

Little did she know it’d be the start of a routine hobby.

-

A recon team scouting Plegia discovers Chrom’s blood-soaked body two days later. They find him wrapped in Robin’s robe and discarded at the base of a seemingly endless flight of stairs leading up to a mountain notorious for attracting cults like the Grimleal; the legends call it the Dragon’s Table, and over the millennia it’s garnered a rancorous reputation. Ripe with stories, rumor has it that wanderers who travel up the perilous mountain go mad and claw out their throats, and that centuries ago sacrifices were made to the divine dragons en masse to try and tip the scales of fate. Nowadays it’s known as a place where people to go to end their lives. Some of them are found at the bottom of cliffs, bones mangled and broken, but most aren’t.

In a way that makes Robin’s absence even more cryptic. There are no traces of her aside from her robe- no tomes, no blood, not even a strand of hair. It’s like she simply just… vanished. Severa wonders if she was one of the unlucky victims who disappeared into the foggy nothingness that coats the foot of the mountain like a blanket, or if she was like one of the sacrifices offered up to the divine dragons of legend so long ago. Would there even be a body to mourn, then? She doesn’t know. No one does.

Chrom had turned thirty-three just a few days before Robin’s kidnapping and had joked about growing facial hair at his birthday party, happily drunk off his ass in a local tavern with the rest of the Shepherds. It was the first time anyone had gotten to unwind since tensions with Plegia reached an all-time high, and gods knew Chrom of all people needed to let loose the most. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the tension and stress of diplomacy had aged him, and while he was a natural leader and selfless to a fault, he still lacked the elegance and refined tongue his older sister was so well known for (but gods, did he still try). He was instead renowned for his headfast nature and prioritizing actions over words, and his natural prowess for roughhousing and making his way out of dodgy situations unscathed gave him an almost admirable and invincible aura. That’s why his death catches everyone so off guard. No one wants to believe it at first, but when the day of his funeral approaches it suddenly feels too real.

Severa is transported to Ylisstol by the royal guard early in the morning, long before sunrise, which came as an unexpected but not unwanted surprise. She’s reunited with her parents there, along with Chrom’s horde of Shepherds, their children, and distant relatives. It feels truly dismal seeing them now, far less optimistic and carefree, but her heart really begins to sink to the bottom of her ribs and float in a cavern of gloom when she sees Lucina at beginning of the funeral service, all dressed in black, her dark hair like an omen as it spills past her shoulders and hides the lace of her jacket. Her eyes are a stormy blue now, plagued with shame and loss and guilt that feels like the tip of a needle pricking against Severa’s skin, and she can’t bring herself to let her words of condolences leave her mouth.

Chrom’s casket is adorned with countless bouquets of flowers and the brand of the Exalt, the expensive varnished wood shining in the sunlight that peeks through the overhead windows as the pallbearers make their way to the front of the chapel. The pillars are draped in dark velvet, bright white lilies standing at the sides of each pew, and Lucina walks at the forefront with Lissa, Morgan, and Frederick, her head hanging low, lips forming a tense, thin line. She’s undeniably fighting back tears, and she clasps Lissa’s hand tightly as she turns to face the crowd, glancing first at the noble families in the front rows before looking anxiously at the faces of strangers and friends alike. The church is practically overflowing, and Severa feels crushed as she stands between her mother and father, and she sourly watches even more people try to squeeze themselves into the pews. One woman at the end of her row sobs dramatically into a tissue and loudly blows her nose as her husband, a bit embarrassed, tries to comfort her. Severa’s never seen her before. Why in the hell is she so upset? They probably never even met him in person!

Cordelia once mentioned to her that Emmeryn and Chrom’s kindness and bravery became a light of hope for Ylisse in the aftermath of their tyrant father’s brutal rule. She said that they had a way of bonding with the citizens, Emmeryn especially, and that their benevolence completely reshaped how Ylisse was viewed on a global scale. It paid to be kind, to do good, and that’s what Emmeryn and Chrom did best.  

Severa grits her teeth. If doing good means dying and leaving your fourteen year old daughter to inherit an empty throne, she doesn’t want it.

-

Severa learns quickly that many believe Chrom was murdered and suspect Robin is the primary culprit, and they don’t even try to keep quiet about their theories. She hears loads of them as she walks out from the chapel once the service is over, and while some of them aren’t the slightest bit creative, they’re admittedly intriguing, if not laughable.

 _Robin wanted to overthrow the throne to give Plegia a chance to strike. She was a spy all along. Lucina isn’t really her daughter. She has… a body double? A twin?_ Now that’s rich, Severa thinks, because no one even knows where Robin is, alive or not. So how can there be two of her?

Only a handful outside of the royal family are invited to the burial service, but that doesn’t stop masses of people from trying to follow the carriages to the mausoleum. Emmeryn is buried there, along with both of their parents, and it seemed only fair that Chrom took his final resting place beside his sister and the rest of his family. Severa swallows thinking of the reality of it all. Emmeryn was assassinated before she was born, and now Chrom’s been murdered… Things don’t look good.

The mausoleum is fenced off and under strict surveillance, so as Severa and her parents are granted access inside, she watches guards hushing and pushing away the bystanders trying to get through the barricade. At one point Frederick even intervenes, reassuring them that _yes_ , they’ll be able to give their condolences to the rest of the family, and their gifts will absolutely be received, and Severa curiously turns and glances farther back, one of her pigtails draping over her shoulder and flowing down the side of her back. She watches as the crowd begins to leave their gifts of sympathy at the gate, and the mass continues for what seems like miles, leaving a maze of flowers, cards, and trinkets on the ground. She’s never seen anything like it before and doesn’t quite know what to make of it. It’s truly a sight to see.

During the burial Severa discovers that it’s beyond difficult to catch Lucina alone, and it’s even more tedious to try and get her attention at all. She has to swarm through guards and close family and friends, drifting past them as quickly as she can, determination in her eyes as her shadow dances in the wake of candlelight and incense. Perhaps it’s rude to do such a thing during such a solemn service, but being with her is the only thing Severa can think about right now.

“Lucina,” She says out, reaching for her. “Lucina, hey, it’s-”

As Lucina turns she looks both agonized and slightly irritated, but her expression changes to relief once she realizes it’s Severa trying to get her attention and not another distant family member she hasn’t seen since she was an infant.

“Oh, thank the gods. It’s just you,” She breathes softly. “I thought you were my Great Aunt Margret again. Severa, these people are driving me _mad._ ”

Frederick shoots the two of them an unapproving, harsh stare as a tiny Morgan shifts atop his shoulders, and it makes Severa feel like a child being scolded by their parent. She decides it’s best for her to keep her mouth shut.

“Okay, fine. We’ll talk more later,” Lucina says, her voice no more than a whisper, so quiet Severa can hardly hear her over Libra and the rest of the priests as they begin reciting their blessings. She pleadingly clutches Severa’s sleeve with one hand. “Just… please stay with me, okay?”

Severa nods. She doesn’t have the courage to tell Lucina that her grip on her arm is so tight it hurts. If this is how she can absorb and carry some of Lucina’s pain, so be it.

Severa decides she hates funerals after that.

-

Lucina is given Falchion as a gift from her father’s will after the burial service. Her hands shake as Frederick sinks to his knees and shows it to her, his stony features rehearsed and precise, but a hint of melancholy still seeps into his eyes as she studies the blade and dares to lay a hand on its sheathe.

Her coronation wasn’t supposed to be like this.

She’d spent her whole childhood preparing for what was prophesized to be one of Ylisse’s brightest days, and even then, she still wasn’t ready. She wasn’t supposed to take the throne until she was at least eighteen, and Chrom, very much alive, was to be by her side, guiding her as she put a lifetime of education to action. No amount of following in his footsteps could’ve adequately trained her, solidified her enough to keep her from sobbing when she instead found an empty throne and only a blood-caked garment left of her mother, the most brilliant woman she knew and admired. Her most important teachers had left her, bled to death at the root of a cursed mountain and evanesced, and only in her own memories could she stand by her parents and celebrate the life she was destined for.

There were supposed to be smiles and celebrations all through the continent, gifts from nobles and heirlooms from previous rulers. The ceremony was going to be valorous, tapestries sewn with gold, each moment perfectly rehearsed and executed. Ylisse would be celebrating the beginning of a new era with another Exalt rising to the throne, peace and prosperity flourishing throughout the kingdom.

The reality of it all leaves Severa painfully acerbic. Instead of celebrating, Ylisse is mourning, aching at even its furthest edges, and its fate rests in the hands of a trembling teenager far too young, far too naïve, to take the place of who came before her. And to make matters worse, she’s caught in a web of political turmoil with the very nation responsible for the death of her aunt, arguably Ylisse’s most respected Exalt, and now her own father. It seems that bloodshed has its way of haunting her family line.

It isn’t fair. Lucina doesn’t deserve this and Ylisse doesn’t, either. How cruel fate must be to build up the reputation of a bloodied kingdom only to strike it down yet again, leaving its future hovering on a thread controlled by a child. The death feels cyclical, a hopeless samsara. If the gods were real, they’d never allow something so repugnant to happen, Severa thinks. She’d never felt a connection to religion, so it’s easy now for her to disavow it entirely.

Lucina combats her own anguish as she clutches Falchion, the holy blade of legend, and accepts her duties to her kingdom. Her vows to rule and protect her people aren’t said in front of a grandiose audience that gives her ovation after ovation, instead just a small crowd full of only the most familiar faces, and Frederick wipes away a tear and soothes her as he reminds her how proud her parents would be of this moment. Lucina breaks down sobbing into his shoulder and what few hushed whispers that lingered in the crowd quickly dissipate in what must be either sympathy or shock.

Lucina’s broken words come out strangled and soft, but they echo in Severa’s head.

_Frederick, why does it burn when I touch it?_

He doesn’t have an answer to give her.

-

Frederick does what little he can to pull himself back into a familiar routine after the hurried coronation ends, and as he dives headfirst into instructing couriers on announcement etiquette he narrowly agrees to give Lucina a few minutes to herself on a few conditions. One is that she must be accompanied by the elite guard, and she always has to stay within their sight. Two is that she takes a friend with her, likely for the sake of her own wellbeing. But that still means no sneaking off, he adds, paying particular attention to Severa, who bites the inside of her cheek. Stupid Frederick. It’s like he can read minds.

Lucina leads her up to the empty gardens, holding Severa’s hand so securely it throbs as they walk through the trellises lined with lavender and basil and budding fruits. The hedges that line the fences have been sheared neatly into rounded shapes, and Severa can tell by the humidity in the air that the flowers have recently been watered. The patterned beds in the allées are vibrant green and flourishing, and as Lucina heads to the spring in the center of the garden, Severa recounts the times the two of them got lost in here as kids, wandering the mazes for what felt like an eternity. It’s like the world is indifferent, unknowing to such a dismal day, and the sunlight that breaks through the trees feels mocking.

Lucina’s hair blows in the breeze, each strand a slew of dark colors like an oil spill in sunlight. There’s hints of blues, cobalts and sapphires that shift to amethyst, then to black inky and opaque and deeper than the sky on a moonless night. Her hair reminds Severa of the black spinel jewelry that so many of the nobles wore today, their expensive attire embedded with lapis lazuli, amethyst, and agate.

For a few seconds Lucina stands in silence, long hair raining over her shoulders and down her back as she examines the extravagant fountain, the trickling of water a lulling, gentle sound. Two dragons spin around each other and spit clear water from their mouths, and Falchion rests between them, coiled within their stony scales. They’re surrounded by bunches of lilies and roses and carnations, whites complimenting reds and pale pinks, vivacious perennials speckled around the edges like colors in a rainbow.

Severa goes to tap on Lucina’s shoulder with her free hand when she abruptly turns and embraces her. It’s sturdy and swift enough to knock a puff of breath out of Severa’s lungs, and whatever semblance of words she had in her mouth turn into a bewildered stammer.

“Thank you.” Lucina says gingerly, delicately, her voice smooth but fragile. Porcelain.

“Huh? For what?” A bit abashed, Severa blinks and furrows her brows.

“For being here with me. Understanding me,” Lucina continues with a murmur. She laughs dryly. “You’re about the only one who does.” She adds.

Severa snorts.

“Well, I’ve known you since you were six,” Severa goes quiet when she hears Lucina sniffle and frowns. “Hey, you all right?”

Lucina looks up with glassy eyes and nods.

“Yeah. Just… a rough day. That’s why it means more than you can know that you’re with me,” Lucina wipes a tear from her eye and looks at Severa keenly. “I mean it, Severa. Please let me thank you.”

Severa expects another hug or maybe an eloquent monologue, but instead Lucina leans in and kisses her, her fingers damp with tears as they faintly brush against her cheek. The kiss is full of uncertainty, their lips barely touching, and it’s stiff before Lucina finally exhales, releasing some of the rigidness from her body. Severa’s never been kissed before and the feeling is foreign, the angle awkward and inexperienced, but what’s even more overwhelming is the warmth of Lucina’s lips, and _gods_ , they’re soft. She finds herself not wanting it to end as Lucina pulls away, and Lucina swallows apprehensively and averts her gaze.

“Do you thank everyone like that?” Severa asks bluntly, her eyes wide.

Lucina’s mien is an earnest but timid one. A spark of worry flashes in her eyes.

“I was under the impression that when you like someone, you kiss them.” She speaks slowly, her cheeks turning pink.

_Oh. She can’t be serious._

“You like me?” The words come out more acidic than Severa intended, but she can’t help her surprise. The thought of someone liking her, being _attracted_ to her, is close to unfathomable, especially coming from Lucina.

“Of course I do!” Lucina’s voice rises and her cheeks go from pink to red. “I… I always have.” She adds, more faintly.

“Well, good! Because I like you too, you… you idiot!” Embarrassed, Severa almost wants to cover her mouth. Shit. What a stupid thing of her to say, calling the new Exalt that!

Lucina, far more amused, breaks into a fit of laughter.

“There you have it, then,” She says smugly, her lips pulling into the hint of a grin. “Amidst all this hell… at least I have you.”

Lucina stands on her tiptoes and places a quick peck on Severa’s lips, and Severa’s heart beats so quickly it resonates in every inch of her body. She feels like she’s flying, fluttering, her nerves fuzzy and alight, and only something as harsh as the sound of metal against the pavement is enough to knock her out of her daze. Two guards come stumbling around the corner just as Lucina pulls away, and their expressions plagued with distress.

The timing couldn’t have been worse, but it also couldn’t have been better. To them it probably looks like Lucina was taking solace in a friend. Which is... partially right. 

“Your highness,” One of them breathes. “I thought Sir Frederick instructed you not to wonder off! We’ve been looking for you for the past ten minutes!”

Lucina’s gaze flickers to Severa and she takes in a breath, a faint flush still present on her cheeks.

“Of course. My apologies,” She scratches her head with a bashful giggle. “I’m doing pretty poorly for my first day on the job, aren’t I? It won’t happen again.”

The guard glances at Severa.

“Are you Lady Cordelia’s daughter? She’s been looking for you. I can escort you back to the mausoleum,” Like a switch, his attention goes back to Lucina. “I’m sorry to rush you, your highness, but you should be getting back, as well. There’s still much to go over.”

“Of course,” Lucina says, and she nudges Severa gently. “Severa, you’re more than welcome to come with us. Since we’re heading in the same direction and all.” Lucina flashes a smile and her teeth gleam bright white in the light. It’s a genuine smile, the first Severa’s seen in a while, and she substitutes a nod for what probably would’ve been another inaudible stammer.

Lucina holds her hand, clasps it firmly and intertwines their fingers together, and as they walk through the garden again Severa finds herself still daydreaming about the softness of Lucina’s lips. She doesn’t tell anyone, buries it far in herself, but that doesn’t stop her from reviving it over and over again in her mind.

The Exalt kissed her today. Holy shit.

Severa decides she still hates funerals, but she absolutely enjoys kissing.

-

Monday means the start of a new week, and that also means Severa has to go to school. Regrettably.

Surprisingly, it goes smoothly until after the school day ends.

“Heard you were at the funeral the other day,” Josiah remarks from behind Severa while she begins walking home from school. His nose has begun healing now, the bruise spreading under his eyes turning a nebulous mix of greens and yellows. That’ll go away eventually, but the crooked ridge on the bone won’t, which Severa is proud of.

She knew he wasn’t going to keep his mouth shut forever. He never learns, does he?

Ignoring him, Severa doesn’t turn around, instead only gritting her teeth so hard her jaw aches. Irritated at her lack of a response, he picks up a pebble from the gravel and throws it at the back of her head.

The irritation simmering in Severa’s veins grows stronger, bringing out the burning feeling in her hands that she’s gotten so used to hating.

“Piss off.” She hisses, shooting him a look of warning. This is a dangerously sensitive topic for her, and to her own dismay, Josiah knows that far too well.

“What? I’m just saying I was right, is all,” He continues, throwing another pebble at her. This time it’s bigger, and it stings as it hits Severa’s temple. “You can’t trust Plegians. Poor Chrom really had it coming, didn’t he? Look where that got him. Six feet under the ground!”

Severa inhales sharply. She’s been walking on a thin rope ever since the last incident with him, and while every last bit of her wants to bash in his _extremely_ targetable nose again, she’d rather avoid the suspension and week-long detentions where she’d write punishments out of a dictionary until her hand cramped.

“You better watch your back,” He warns tauntingly. Beside him his friends laugh and Severa envisions herself kicking them into the dirt. “Your dad’s a Plegian too, isn’t he? I heard he’s a freak. Maybe your mom is next.”

The feeling grows stronger.

“Don’t you know how to shut up? Or are you too stupid to even understand that?” Severa snaps, her fingertips searing. Gods, she hates him so damn much.

Josiah snorts.

“I told you, I don’t listen to half-breeds. Did your dad teach you some Plegian? Maybe some voodoo?”

On second thought, screw being the bigger person. If this is how it feels, Severa doesn’t want it. Scowling, she turns around and stomps towards him, grabbing the collar of his shirt and balling it into her fist so tightly it makes his face turn red.

“Then you better learn to listen, shit for brains,” She rasps. “We’re not on school grounds right now and you can’t cower behind the teachers like you did last time. You throw another goddamn pebble at me and I’ll bash in a lot more than just your nose.”

“Do you think I’m scared of you?” He snorts, his thin lips curling into an intrepid, vapid smile. It quickly shifts to malaise. “Ow, hey, what the fuck are you doing? That burns, what the _hell?_ ”

Severa feels it, too. Radiating from her fingers. Something scorches and smells like smoke. A lick of a dark flame dances in her closed palm, violet and endless and brooding, and it lights his shirt on fire. Josiah tries to pull away with a frightened gasp, frantically reaching for his shirt, smacking at the flame as it grows bigger and Severa steps back, horrified, her hand throbbing in pain.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He barks, pulling off his shirt, his exposed skin pink and festering in the sunlight. The flame dies but leaves behind abnormal traces. “You psycho bitch! What are you, a fucking witch or something?!” He shrieks.

Severa doesn’t know. Maybe she isn’t normal…maybe someone cursed her. She shouldn’t be like this. She’s not supposed to be.

Josiah continues yelling a string of profanities and his friends look petrified as they stare at the mild but obvious burns on his neck and collarbones, salmon-pink and fresh, searing against his pale skin. Severa feels all the blood rushing to her head, making her temples pulse, and something like embarrassment strikes her. She suddenly feels like a circus animal again. A freakshow. She doesn’t even want to look at herself, to think of herself occupying her own body because it feels _wrong_ , makes her skin itch. She has the unavoidable urge to escape and never see their faces again, so before Josiah has the change to say anything else, she turns and runs as fast as she can. She doesn’t even have to remind herself to not look back.

She flees to a nearby creek hidden in a forest, her legs burning, head dizzy from the exertion. She doesn’t remember the last time she ran that fast. As she pants, putting her hands on her knees, she finally gazes back, her heart pounding, vision misty. There’s luckily no sign of any of them. With a sigh of relief she lets her head fall, feeling the sweat forming on her brow, and she gazes at the stream of flowing water in one of the brooks. Her hair falls past her shoulders and hovers in the air as if reaching for the water, and she eyes her own faint, rippled reflection looking back at her just above the pebbles, scattered like tiny pearls in the stream. After a few seconds she decides the blood flowing to her head is an undesired sensation and she sits in a patch of grass beside the bank, folding her legs into her stomach and wrapping her arms around them, curling into herself and resting her head on her knees. The sound of the running water is the only thing that keeps her from drowning in her own thoughts and pulling herself away from reality. From everything.

As sunlight peeks through the trees, Severa decides three things.

One: There’s something wrong with her. Maybe she is a freak. A witch or an alien or just…something different. She doesn’t know who she is or why she’s able to do the things she can, and that, most of all, scares her. She wonders if there’s someone else locked inside of her, clawing at her and ripping her apart at the seams, someone monstrous and gnarled and bloodthirsty. A part of her almost enjoyed what she did, horrifingly enough. It’s a twisted sense of justice, but it still feels like justice nonetheless.

Two: She hates herself. Despises herself. Loathes the sight of herself, her own skin, and even now she resists the urge to rip it open and look into her own veins, searching for answers in them like a book. Whatever sets her apart from everyone else is equally disorienting and isolating, and all hours of the day feel like waking up from a deep sleep that somehow is never restful enough. Why is she so drained all the time, and why does everything in her body ache, working against her? Everyone expects so much of her, even if they don’t say it outright. And Severa knows she doesn’t live up to those expectations. She isn’t her mother. She never will be.

Three: She can never tell her parents about this. Or anyone, for that matter. Josiah will probably be too terrified to confront her now, so if she’s lucky he’ll keep his mouth shut and act like she’s a ghost. On top of that, her classmates are already wary of her as it is. So maybe no one will find out about it. They can pretend she’s dead for all she cares. She hopes they will.

At first Severa thinks the warmth against her face is sunlight, but after a few blinks she realizes she’s crying. The teardrops are thick and dense, dripping off her chin and into the stream below her, and her eyes sting as they turn into rings in the water. Her face looks distorted within the ripples, split into pieces like fragments of a broken mirror spread out. She hates it, too. Hates everything.

Severa doesn’t know how much time passes, but she stays long enough for her tears to dry. The sun now hides in the trees, shielded by them like a curtain, and as Severa stands her chest feels heavy. Like her lungs are made of iron. With a sniffle she wipes her eyes, cleaning off the memory of tears on her fingers. She’d bury what happened today here if she could, leave it behind and never mourn it. Maybe even forget about it, though she knows she never will.

She gazes up at the sky with hollow eyes. Her parents are waiting for her, and she’s not usually this late home. This will just be another thing to hide, she thinks.

At least she’s gotten good at that.

-

Something isn’t right.

Severa spots a few men walking up to the front of the house and she knows they’re guards before she’s close enough to get a good look at their attire. She counts five or six of them, and they’re not the typical ones that guard most village outposts, either- they walk too formally, too in-sync with one another, and their weapons glint bright silver in the sunlight. They’re too new, too polished, to be given to inexperienced recruits or volunteers out on patrol. These are high-ranking guards straight from Ylisstol, and it’s exceptionally rare to see them outside the castle walls. What are they doing here? Her mother might be in high ranks amongst the Shepherds, but most of the time she’s left to train new recruits or tend to the Pegasi…

Severa swallows hard. They were only here recently to take her to Chrom’s funeral, and aside from that she can’t remember the last time the Ylissean royal guard was even here. And they’re so far from Ylisstol… a wave of panic surges through her and sits heavy in her throat as her mind shuffles through the possibilities. Has there been another ambush? Is Lucina okay?

“Mom, what’s going on?” Severa’s calls. She’s still out of breath and her muscles burn, but that doesn’t stop her from practically sprinting up the hill to her house.

The guards turn only their heads to briefly look back at her as Cordelia stands in the doorway. Her face is unusually pale. She swallows and presses her lips as she and Severa make eye contact.

“Severa, I… I’ll explain later. Please come inside,” She says urgently. She sounds timid. Scared.

Two of the guards shift to give her enough room to get through the front door. Their expressions are rigid and trained, like they’re wearing masks made of finely cut stone. Severa finds it unsettling.

“I started dinner on the stove. Would you check to see if the water is boiling?” Cordelia stammers. Severa can’t tell she said it to distract her or if she’s genuinely concerned, but the way her tone fluctuates isn’t a good sign. She’s never seen her this exasperated…not even when she almost got kicked out of school for breaking her bully’s nose.

Severa sighs. As stressed as Cordelia is, she knows she won’t crack. Not while the guards are still here.

“Guess so,” She mumbles with a shrug. “Since you’re just gonna keep secrets from me.”

Cordelia tells the guards a shaky, tense apology and shuts the door behind her once Severa walks inside. Then the lock clicks shut. Severa tries to eavesdrop, even puts her ear against the damn door to try and hear them better, but their voices are hushed and what she hears is jumbled. Something about numbers. Missing forces. Maneuvers. Choices. Then Severa’s anxiety drops into her stomach and spreads.

Retribution. She hears that clearly.

The next thing she hears is Henry fumbling around in the kitchen, his nervous laughter followed by a loud clang of pots and pans hitting the floor. The sound is sudden and loud enough to make Severa jump, and she comes close to hitting the top of her head against the doorknob. She quickly backs away from the door and stands upright with her heart pounding hard, nerves still alight from the brief rush of adrenaline, and she nonchalantly tosses her bag onto the nearest chair to ease any suspicion. She wasn’t just eavesdropping. Not at all!

Luckily, Henry doesn’t seem to have noticed; whatever chaos is going on in the kitchen has clearly stolen his attention, and Severa rushes in to help him as what looks like either steam or smoke rises from one of the pots over the fire.

“Dad, what did you _do?_ ” Severa tries not to laugh but can’t quite help herself. Her eyes start to water and she coughs. Oh gods, it’s definitely smoke. She pries open a nearby window as Henry clumsily tries to waft it outside with a knife in one hand, which Severa quickly takes and sets down on the table.

“Heh, sorry, Sev,” He mutters, embarrassed. “It looks like no matter how hard I try, cooking isn’t really my thing.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna say probably not,” Severa looks at the contents in one of the pots and it gives her less of an idea than she would’ve liked. “Erm. What exactly… is this in here?” She points.

“Dunno,” Henry answers with a smile. “Think you can fix it?”

“I’ll probably have to start from scratch, but that’s okay,” Severa looks at him and snorts. “Just promise me you won’t try to cook anything else and I think we’ll stay in one piece.”

“Sure can do!” Henry says enthusiastically. He pats Severa on the head endearingly before fumbling around in search for silverware to set the table.

It’s a family tradition of sorts to eat together every night and Severa expects tonight to be no different, guards at the door or not. It’s a sort of unspoken tradition and it stands regardless of external factors; they’ve sat in silence before and have learned to welcome it, like on tired nights after returning home from Ylisstol or when Severa got in trouble at school, but even when life was at its worst it never felt tense. A bit awkward, yes, but never constricting; having dinner together was simply way for her family to see each other without expectation or worry, Severa supposes, and she likes it that way.

Severa makes a poor but seemingly passable excuse for chicken and vegetable soup that Henry wolfs down, big smile and all, his lips pulled out like stretchy licorice to the corners of his mouth. Severa initially hesitates to eat, bats at her food with her spoon and watches a carrot float absently in the broth like an orange lily-pad in a garden pond, but eventually the rumbling in her stomach overtakes her self-control and she finds an empty bowl before her. The hunger is now replaced with a nagging feeling of guilt in the upper portions of her belly, and an irritating itch that hangs in the back of her head. She can only hope she’s saved enough for her mother…

It’s becoming dark when Cordelia finally comes back in, the sky now turning a gradient of purple, gray, and deepening blue, specks of stars dotting the marbled clouds. Lost in thought, the sound of the door shutting abruptly knocks Severa out of her thoughts, and she’s instead left with a stark foil to her daydreams; Cordelia’s eyes are wide and puffy, and something between despair and horror paints lines on her forehead and tenses her lips. She’s been crying, and that alone is enough of a sign that something bad has happened. Something _beyond_ bad. Even Henry has gone quiet.

“Mom?” Severa quips, and her voice is like a rift that cuts through the silence in the air. The tension is unlike anything she’s felt before and it tugs at her spine like the string of a bow pulled too tight. She feels like she’s about to snap.

Cordelia is shaking. The expression in her eyes is dark, more pupils than the cognac of her irises. She swallows hard and whatever amelioration of feelings she’s holding in slides down her throat slow and heavy, like she could choke on it.

“Ylisse has declared war on Plegia.” The words come out in pieces, sharp fragments of a dagger that stab Severa in the gut, and Cordelia stares blankly at the kitchen table as she speaks. She breaks down sobbing before she can say anything else. She doesn’t eat anything for the rest of the night, and it’s the first time she hasn’t eaten dinner at the table with them.

It’s the first time, the only time, and the last time.


End file.
